


Word From Home

by B1nary_S0lo



Series: Rora Surana [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Circle of Magi, Family Member Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mage Origin, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:56:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6590152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B1nary_S0lo/pseuds/B1nary_S0lo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Circle, a young Rora receives unexpected news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Word From Home

“Ah, Surana,” said Grand Enchanter Irving. “There you are. Come in, come in.”

Rora stepped into the Grand Enchanter’s office and stopped in front of his desk. She rocked once on her heels before settling in place, folding her hands behind her back.

“You wanted to see me, Ser?” she said.

She couldn’t keep the apprehension out of her voice. Being called to Irving’s office was a rare occurrence, especially for Rora, who always behaved so well. Was she in trouble?

He didn’t look angry, though. He leaned forward slightly, brow furrowed.

“Yes, Surana,” he said. “A letter came for you. From Denerim.”

“A letter?” she said.

This made her nervous. She’d never received a letter from home before, and, if there was one thing she’d learned in her time at the Circle, it was that you didn’t want out of the ordinary things happening to you. It wasn’t good to stand out too much.

Irving frowned, glanced down at his desk.

“The Knight Commander doesn’t usually allow apprentices to receive communication from home,” he said. “But I convinced him to make an exception this time. This is news you ought to know. Bad news.”

“What is it?” she said softly.

Irving sighed heavily. “It’s your mother,” he said. “She’s passed away.”

Rora stood still. For a second, the room, Irving, the stones beneath her feet, all seemed terribly distant and unreal.

“I see,” she said. Her own voice, too, sounded far away. “How did it happen?”

The lines on Irving’s face were deeper than usual, his face terribly sad. “It sounds as though she became ill,” he said. “According to the word we received, she went quickly and didn’t suffer.” He raised his hands, as if in defeat. “I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

Rora nodded. Any words she might’ve said stuck in her throat. Irving leaned forward.

“I’m so sorry, Surana,” he said. “If you need to talk… Remember, I’m always here.”

She swallowed. “Thank you,” she managed to say. “First Enchanter, may I go?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’m sure this is a lot to take in.”

She nodded and turned to leave, but at the door, she stopped and turned back.

“First Enchanter?” she said.

He looked up. “Yes, Surana?”

“Who wrote the letter?” she said. “Was it my grandmother?”

Irving furrowed his brow again, thinking. He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I believe it came from one of your Alienage’s elders.”

Rora nodded again, feeling hollow.

Irving sighed. “I’m sorry I can’t give you the letter,” he said. “The Knight Commander confiscated it. But, it was quite brief, I assure you.”

“I see,” Rora said. “Thank you, First Enchanter.”

“Take care, Rora.”

She left, shutting the door behind her.

The corridor outside Irving’s office was quiet. Unusually so, for this time of day. No rowdy apprentices on their way to lessons. No distant explosions or hisses of spells. There weren’t even any Templars on patrol. She was alone with the silent air.

She clenched one of her fists, nails biting into her palm.

 _Feel something_ , she told herself. _Your mother is dead. What_ _’s wrong with you?_

But she felt nothing at all.

 

Jowan looked up from his reading when she came in. His long legs stretched nearly past the end of his bunk. Now seventeen, he’d gotten taller and lankier recently. Rora hadn't grown in years and didn't think this was fair, even if she was three years younger.

He sat up slightly. “What did the First Enchanter want?” he said.

She didn’t answer him right away. She crossed to her own bunk and flopped down on top of the covers. “Nothing,” she said.

Even staring at the mattress above her, she could imagine the frown on his face.

“Nothing?” he said.

She turned toward the wall. “Nothing.”

She heard him shift again, like he was going to come over, but he seemed to think better of it because she soon heard the turning of pages again. Good. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Not even him.

She closed her eyes, curling into a ball above the blankets.

She tried to conjure up images of her mother. What could she remember about her? She’d liked to sing, had rocked Rora in her lap on the rare occasions she’d been home from work. Rora could almost recall her warmth, the feel of her mother’s fingers combing softly through her hair.

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, trying to bring back something more. Her face, her voice… but it was useless. Like trying to recall something you hadn’t studied enough during a test. There, but just out of reach.

She opened her eyes and sat up. From across the room, she met Jowan’s eyes. He looked concerned.

“Rora?” he said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. She slid off the bed. “I’m going to the library.”

He shifted again, brow furrowed. “Want company?”

“No,” she said. She tried to smile. “I need a new book for the Alchemy practical. You’d just be bored.”

He shrugged, seemingly convinced by this story, and want back to his reading. “All right, then. See you at dinner.”

“See you,” she said. She hurried out of the room.

Walking down the corridor, she regretted not saying more.

 _You could have told him_ , she thought. _He would understand. Anyone here would._

But she didn’t stop or go back. She continued to the library, and, once the book was found, ensconced herself in her usual corner. She half glared at the page, trying to focus on the words. There was no point thinking about it.

Her vision swam. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, breathed in deeply.

No point, she told herself again. No point at all.

She lay her head down on the desk. Her eyes stung.

“Mama,” she murmured into the page. She said it so quietly it would have been impossible for anyone, even someone standing right beside her, to hear.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little story that came to me while I was thinking through my poor Warden's tragic life, and what her childhood/adolescence in the Circle might have been like.
> 
> Kid can't catch a break :(


End file.
